


Not Enough to Feed the Hungry

by Arisprite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e14 My Bloody Valentine, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Missing Scene, Road Trips, Withdrawal, sort of...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisprite/pseuds/Arisprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Famine's death had left them all reeling, and all Castiel wanted was to curl up with his overfull stomach. But Sam was beginning to show withdrawal symptoms, Dean was silent, and they were hours from Bobby's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Spoilers for 5x14 My Bloody Valentine, as much swearing as in the show, angst, introspection (yes, I feel the need to warn for introspection), regurgitation, and withdrawal symptoms.
> 
> A/N: So this piece is one I've been working on for a while now. I love this episode, and I couldn't resist trying to fill in some of the gaps. Everyone's emotional state is so interesting in that part of the season, and I just had to try to hash it all out, while getting some whump in on Cas...heehee.
> 
> Disclaimer: I've forgotten this the past few posts, so let it be known that I do not own Supernatural, nor would I wish too, I have no idea how they're gonna get us out of this last Season. The song title and quote is from The Used "The Taste of Ink."

Is it worth it can you even hear me  
Standing with your spotlight on me  
Not enough to feed the hungry  
I'm tired and I felt it for awhile now  
In this sea of lonely  
The taste of ink is getting old

Castiel felt it the moment that Famine's power ceased to affect his vessel. That gaping hole, full of need, longing, and emotions he didn't even know that somehow yearned to be filled eased and his mind came back to himself. He was leaning over a pan of raw animal meat, clutching handfuls of the chilled protein, and still swallowing far far too much of it. Castiel slowly sat back on his knees, disgust rising in his gorge. He put a wrist to his mouth (his hands were stained with blood) until the feeling eased slightly and he could look up.

Dean and Sam were standing to his side, swaying slightly in the aftershock of Famine's demise. Sam's face was covered in blood, both his own, and demon. Castiel felt a shiver of sadness that Sam hadn't been able to resist. Then again, neither had he, so who was he to judge?

Slowly, Castiel got to his feet. He could feel the burgers, sitting lump like in Jimmy's stomach. It was an unpleasant sensation.

Sam, still gasping with effort, jumpy with demon blood was looking down in shame. Castiel was sure that the cravings had gone from Sam the moment Famine was killed, but he was still feeling the effects of the large amount of blood he'd ingested. His eyes twitched over the room, almost meeting Castiel's.

Dean, however, stood shoulders slumped. He could barely look at Sam, and didn't glance towards Castiel at all.  
Sam coughed, and wiped at his face ineffectively.

"We should head to Bobby's." Sam murmured, and his voice seemed to jolt Dean out of his stupor. Dean cleared his throat, and gently touched the blood that dripped over his brow. Castiel wondered when he'd been hit; he'd been disgustingly preoccupied.

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice like crushed glass. He cleared his throat, seeming to pull himself together a bit. "We should grab his ring." Dean jerked his head towards the limp body.

Castiel took a step forwards, the meat sloshing in his stomach, and slid the metal ring off Famine's finger. It was heavier than he'd expected it to task done, he slid it into his coat pocket. 

"We should go." Castiel said. The others looked as uncomfortable as he felt; Castiel wanted nothing more to get out of here, and away from the memory of bloody meat on his tongue, the sense of evil from the demon cloud pulled unnaturally from their host's mouths, the hunger Famine had awakened. The smell of beef was overwhelming, sickening.

The demon's hosts, lying on the ground where they'd fallen began to stir. Dean, doing a visual check apparently decided they would all be fine, before gesturing to Castiel, and Sam and striding from the building. Sam's brown met Castiel's blue; his lip twitched, and he followed Dean outside. Castiel took the rear, moving slowly. He was experiencing more and more discomfort as the full effects of Famine's powers faded, and Jimmy's stomach woke to the fact that there was far too much food inside. His angel physiology prevented the overstuffing from becoming dangerous, such as it had for the other people in this town: Castiel could not have eaten himself to death, but it didn't stop him from feeling the after effects.

Dean was leaning on the roof of the Impala, weariness in every line of his body.

"Dean?" Castiel asked, worried there was something else he'd missed. "Are you hurt?"

The other man started, and Sam looked up, his brow furrowing further.

"I'm fine," Dean said, hunching his shoulders slightly. He jerked the car door open then, and climbed in. Sam followed suit, reaching in the glove compartment for a cloth to wipe his face. Castiel opened the back seat door and gingerly settled himself in, not flying in like he usually would. The thought of the twisting, gravity defying flight that even such a short distance would result in made him swallow heavily. He'd avoid "zapping" as Dean called it, if he could help it.

The ride back to the motel was silent, as they were all in a subdued mood. Castiel elected to stay in the car while Sam and Dean packed and checked out of their room. No one wanted to stay in this town any longer. Castiel had heard Sam mention Bobby's, and he realized that Sam meant the panic room, where he'd detoxed before. Castiel also remembered the circumstances of that detox and more precisely the reason for his release. Castiel frowned, a hot flush of shame rushing through him. He'd never told Dean, and Sam didn't remember, as Castiel wasn't visible to him at the time. Castiel thought back to that order, and the almost overwhelming sense of wrongness about it, the doubts he'd had, even before Dean's impassioned speech. He felt sure he should have told Dean about that, but the thought of bringing that up now sickened him. Though that could have been the beef.

Castiel shifted his thoughts from past mistakes; there were more and worse ones he could think about if he so chose, but there was no point in dwelling. Dean and Sam were still in the motel, and Castiel took advantage of the solitude to draw his knees up to his chest, leaning back against the seat. His stomach was becoming more and more painful, churning and grumbling like he'd eaten a live animal, instead of just a prodigious amount of dead ones. A moment later he was swallowing compulsively, wishing he'd phrased that better in his mind. He wrapped his hand around his midsection miserably.

"You feeling okay?"

Castiel quickly put his legs to the floor, and removed his hand from his belly, looking up to see Sam peering in, still nearly vibrating with energy. There was concern on his face, and Castiel quickly worked to remove any indication of discomfort from his own.

"I'm fine." Castiel replied, noticing too late how closely his tone resembled Dean just ten minutes ago, when it was clear he was not well at all. Sam didn't believe him, but let him be, settling into the front passenger seat. Dean came out a few moments after, carrying his bag and placing it into the trunk. He then got into the driver's seat.

"Okay, Cas, you can flap off any time. You don't have to stay and babysit." Dean was gruff sounding. Castiel thought again of flying, the whirlwind of a ride that he usually so enjoyed. Even as his other powers got weaker, flying was still a part of him. But angels didn't normally feel nauseous, as Castiel did now. Flying did not sound pleasant.

"I'll stay with you for the moment." Castiel said, trying to sound unconcerned. Sam glanced over at him, and then Dean.

"He's not feeling well." Sam said matter of factly.

Dean twisted around, and peered at his face, eyes narrowed. Castiel sighed inwardly.

"I'm fine."

"Uhuh," Dean said, turning back to the wheel. "Well if you need to hurl, let me know. I'll pull over." He flashed him a half smile in the rearview mirror. "You did eat a buttload of burgers, Cas."

Castiel closed his eyes. "Don't remind me."

A small chuckle lightened the atmosphere in the car, and Castiel was glad to be the "butt" of the joke if it made Sam and Dean feel a little easier about the results of this day. Dean turned on some music, something low and pulsing, and they put the town behind them. Bobby's house was near, Castiel knew, but human miles were confusing to him. At some point he'd ask just how long they'd have to drive to get there, but for now he was content to lean back and listen to Dean's music, watching the fields go by.

Castiel was glad that Dean seemed slightly more relaxed then he had before going into the motel. He wondered if perhaps he and Sam had had a word, if Sam had said something while they were inside. Or perhaps teasing Castiel did remove his mind from the tense situation, from the weight of knowing that within twelve hours his brother beside him would be in the throes of withdrawal. Through no fault of his own (and Castiel, of all people, really did know that it wasn't his fault) Sam had made one of Dean's fears become reality. Seeing Sam again with his mouth lined with blood was jarring to him, let alone Dean.

Castiel rubbed his belly, the churning growing more and more disagreeable as the miles flew by. The cars rumble was at times comforting, other times seemed to make his head spin, and each time the world rotated, a terrible feeling seemed to be trying to crawl up his throat. He pushed it back, and tried to hold still.

By this point, his feet were back up on the bench seat, and his hands were clenched around his midsection. Castiel felt hot, and clammy, and the burgers kept trying to escape through his esophagus. He kept desperately trying to calm his stomach, as vomiting was something he'd never had the desire to experience within a human vessel, but he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to avoid it.

"Cas? You okay?" Dean was looking in the mirror at him again, but this time, Castiel couldn't muster the energy for a lie, especially when it was about to be clear how not okay he was.

"No." Castiel managed to get out, before spreading his wings and leaping from the car, aiming for just the side of the road. He landed sprawled in the dirt and litter, and a moment later was choking up the meat and burgers he'd consumed. His stomach was heaving and the White Castle tasted vile on the way back up. The smell of dry grass and vomit filled his nostrils, making him gag again.

He heard the Impala screech to a stop ahead of him, and back up along the shoulder until Dean and Sam were close to where he knelt. His arms shook as they held him off the ground, his body expelling an obscene amount of stomach matter. Had he really eaten so much?

The doors slammed as the two got out of the car, and came closer, but seemed unwilling to interrupt. Indeed there was little they could do, at least until Castiel's stomach decided to stop rejecting his ill advised food intake. Turned out he was right about flying in his condition, for his head was still spinning from the jump to the shoulder. One of his elbows collapsed, and he would have fallen face first into his own mess, were it not for Dean's quick reflexes.

"Woah! Come on, Cas. Deep breaths." Castiel gagged and heaved a few more times, feeling Dean's hands tighten against his spasming back, and then he was able to calm himself. Nothing more was coming up for the moment, although his stomach still churned. Dean tilted him up on his heels, a hand on each of Castiel's shoulders, and Castiel leaned against him, breathing heavily, and raising a hand to wipe away the sweat and tears of exertion from his eyes. His fingers trembled.

"You done?" Dean asked, and Castiel nodded shakily.

"That was unpleasant." He said, his voice rougher than usual. Castiel's mouth tasted foul, and he spat on the ground before moving back and slowly standing. His stomach contents stayed in place, for which he was glad. Dean didn't let go of his arm until he was upright and steady.

Sam held out a water bottle, and Castiel gratefully took it, rinsing and spitting again. The water felt cool on his tongue, though it exacerbated his shivers.

"Thank you." Castiel murmured, putting his free hand on his stomach again, as if that could ease the agitated organ.

"We should get going." Dean said then, his eyes lingering on Castiel and Sam in turns. Castiel knew he was watching for signs of withdrawal from his brother, but so far Sam seemed alright. Ashamed, but not twitchy or in pain (yet). Castiel nodded, and took another sip of water.

"How far are we from Bobby's?" He asked, his mind still not used to thinking in terms of mortal vehicles, and travel time, even after all this time among humans.

"About eight hours." Dean was worried, and Castiel nodded again to show that he understood. They'd be cutting it close. Sam would be past the initial symptoms by that point, would be jittery and in pain, nauseous and cranky, but still himself, not out of his mind with withdrawal. Castiel remembered last time, though Dean and Sam didn't know he had been there for that. It had been a hard experience for everyone, not to mention what had followed after.

But that was in the past. Castiel, feeling marginally better as his stomach seemed to settle, moved towards the car. They had better start driving.


	2. Chapter 2

An hour into the drive, Dean grudgingly let Sam take the wheel, succuming to Sam's arguements that Dean couldn't make it all the way on what little sleep he had, and Sam should drive before he starts to feel the withdrawal. It was sound logic, and Dean really did need to sleep. There was a bit of seat juggling, and Castiel ended up in the front seat with Sam, while Dean stretched out in the back, trying to get some rest.

Castiel was resting as well. The experience of vomiting had thankfully not repeated itself, though he still wouldn't rule it out. It was tiring, the act itself, so violent, muscles and organs involuntarily spasming and contracting. There was also the disgust of re-tasting his food, something that just thinking about made his gut lurch. Castiel breathed out slowly, and leaned his head against the seat. He wished he could abandon his pride and curl up in the seat, like Dean was in the back.

Sam, driving along the road, gave him a side glance.

"How are you doing?" He asked, and Castiel felt a small warmth at the concern even as Sam was dealing with his own problems.

"I am well." Not true, but he was sure that Sam knew that anyway. "I am not planning on vomiting again."  
Something about his phrasing made Sam laugh. That often happened around the Winchesters.

"People don't usually plan on it happening, Cas." Sam looked over at him before looking back at the road. "You just look a little restless."

"Riding in a car is tedious." Castiel said.

"You can't just fly away?" Sam said, voice pitching upwards mildly. Castiel swallowed.

"Flying would be a bad idea in my condition."

Sam seemed to get an amusing thought. "You mean, you'd get air sick?"

"Yes," Castiel said, "I thought I made that clear."

Sam smiled wider, and Castiel, though still slightly confused (he must have missed a reference) felt glad for a moment.

"In any case, the sickness will pass, and then I will be able to fly unhindered."

"But for now, you're stuck on the road, like the rest of us."

The words seemed to have a sudden gravity, a double meaning that Sam did not intend and Castiel looked down at his hands in his lap. Jimmy's lap, he used to think. He didn't anymore. Jimmy had been quieting in his mind since Raphael destroyed him. Castiel was brought back, and placed in his vessel, but it seemed the power it took to maintain some kind of connection was too much for him anymore. He'd get vague impressions, emotions that were not his own, but nothing more. Castiel was feeling more and more alone in his body.

Here he was, on the road, the world. In his own body, essentially, and stuck with the rest of humanity in the slow crawl of life. Castiel was cut off from Heaven. Yes, he still had some powers, and flight but how long before those too faded, and he was basically human. He would be mortal, have to eat, sleep and protect himself from injury. Eating sounded terrible right now, but the mere fact that Castiel felt so much discomfort was a sign of his falling state. He'd never heard of a slow slide from grace, but it seemed to be where he was headed.

Castiel sighed, and wrapped one hand around the other. There was no point in dwelling on this right now. Sam and Dean needed him, and so far he'd simply wallowed, and then taken precious travel time up in purging his stomach. No more distractions.

"How are you feeling, Sam?" Castiel turned to the other man. Sam made a sharp movement which was almost a flinch.

"Stupid." He muttered.

"It was not your doing. You could not have resisted Famine's power."

Sam nodded, tired. "That's what Dean told me in the motel room."

Castiel looked him over, noting the slump, the downward drawn brow. "You don't believe him."

"No, and neither did he."

Sam swallowed, as Castiel let the silence lengthen. Sam finally broke it.

"Did you know we left the two demon's bodies in the motel room. We couldn't take them anywhere without someone seeing, so we just wiped the place, and paid for another night and got the hell out of there? Someone will find those bodies, and remember us, and it'll another thing the feds might be able to pin on us. At least before I covered my tracks! I drank those two dry, without a thought, Cas! I've been so careful, and all this time, I was just waiting for the chance to go crazy. I can't believe I ever thought I could stop, just wait until we run into another demon, I'll-"

"Sam!"

Castiel had been trying to cut him off for a while, not liking his frantic tone, and red eyes. Finally, shouting had been the only way, and he listened with regret as Dean jolted awake, somehow having stayed asleep through Sam's tirade. Castiel was grateful.

"Sam?" Dean muttered, but the two in the front seat ignored him, Castiel for focusing on Sam, and Sam on the road.

"Sam, listen to me. Famine's power is overwhelming. The mess on the road back there is testament to that, and I'm an angel. You resisted as long as you could, and then you refused the further demons Famine offered you. A junkie longing for his next hit could not have done so. You are far stronger than you give yourself credit for."

Sam didn't answer, but flashed him a look that managed to be grateful and disbelieving at the same time. Dean was silent in the back.

A few hours away from Bobby's, and Sam began shaking, hands trembling against the steering wheel. Sam tried to ignore it, and Dean pretended not to notice until a close call with a semi caused all of their hearts to speed up.

"That's it. Pull over." Dean said roughly from the back seat. He'd been awake for a while now. In fact, Castiel wasn't sure if he'd gotten any sleep at all, after his shout woke him, the air was so tense in the car. Sam immediately slowed, steering the car to the side of the road. Dean got out of the back seat, and Castiel made to open the door, switch back to his usual place, but Sam, unfolding from the driver's seat, waved a hand at him.

"No, it's fine. I'll take the back." He murmured, opening the door. Dean got in the front, and started the car again. Castiel estimated they were about three hours from Bobby's, and felt again that restlessness. He could get them there in the blink of an eye, were it not for his weakness in succuuming to Famine's powers, and the resulting illness that still plagued him. Yes, it was hypocritical of him to admonish Sam for blaming himself and then be angry that he could not be stronger, but he couldn't help it. He was an angel, or he used to be. He wasn't sure what he was now.

Castiel wished he could at least drive, spare Dean, let him rest. It would give him something to do besides sit here. With a swallow, he thought again that if the degrade in his powers went any further, he may have to learn...learn how to be a human fully. He'd be a fallen angel without the benefit of a rebirth. He'd be caught halfway between Heaven and earth. He'd be useless, hapless, hopeless...it was more sickening than the raw meat he'd consumed.

Castiel grabbed for the door handle, and leaped out before Dean had begun to pull away, feeling his stomach lurch again. He'd thought he was feeling better, or at least he'd gotten past the vomiting part. Apparently not.

He bent in the gravel, and threw up some more mostly digested animal product, while Dean made sounds of disgust from the open car door.

"Dean, leave him be." Sam muttered behind him, and Castiel spared him a feeling of gratitude.

"Sorry, it's just you're already shaking, and Cas is still sick. That Famine character was a son of a bitch."

Castiel spat one last time, hoping that that was the end of it. His stomach muscles ached and his middle felt empty and hollow (a better feeling than that over stuffed cramping of before, but still strange as he didn't actually need to eat). He slowly sat back in the car, rubbing his stomach. Dean passed him his mostly full water bottle, and Cas used a little to rinse before taking a sip. The water sloshed strangely in his belly.

"You good?" Dean asked, glancing over. Castiel cleared his throat.

"I'm good."

They drove off, and set their sights on Bobby's. The sun set at some point, the light shining in their eyes, making Dean finally dig out an old pair of sunglasses, until the sky darkened enough that he could see without squinting. The light seemed to hurt Sam's head, who buried his face in the back of the seat, and didn't move, save for twitching muscles. Castiel spent his time between glancing back at Sam, keeping an eye on Dean, and watching the scenery.

Castiel wasn't accustomed to distances, not in the mortal sense. The world his Father had created was at once massive and sprawling, full to the brim with people and noise, and small and confined. Anywhere was moments away to an angel. He could spread his wings, and be on the other side of the globe in the blink of an eye.

Then Castiel began spending more and more time with the Winchesters. Humans who had not the luxury of flying, nor the inclination. Castiel couldn't understand why they would prefer the long trips, following winding roads and taking what wasn't even close to the shortest route to a destination, even if one stayed on the ground. This trip stretched out in silence full of thoughts and emotions, and Castiel was anxious and tense.

"Dude, would you stop that?" Dean said suddenly, and Castiel looked up, startled. In the immediate stillness, he realized that he'd been bouncing his knee rhythmically.

"Apologies. I'm simply...ready to be there." Castiel said, frowning at his body for giving him away, yet again tonight. How many other human habits had he picked up and not realized? Dean huffed and turned fully back to the road, maneuvering around a large truck.

"Ain't we all?" He muttered, sounding a great deal like Bobby Singer.

Castiel let out a breath, and shifted. Sam, behind him, echoed his movements. It was the same uneasy shifting he'd been doing for a few hours now. The shakes were growing stronger. He had yet to turn from the back of the seat where he lay, but Castiel could see the sweat glistening on the back of his neck in the lights from the other headlights. He muttered and groaned every now and again, and Dean had stopped asking if he was alright. It was obvious that he wasn't.

A half hour later Sam muttered something.

"Sam? You need something?" Dean looked in the rearview mirror, then swore. Castiel twisted around in his seat, to see

Sam had turned away from the back of the seat. He had curled his impossibly long limbs into a ball, and was hugging his knees. His face was pale, and his eyes were open, with tears flowing from them, but worst was the muttering that could now be heard. Moans, and pleas and denials. Listening now, Castiel heard both Dean's name, Ruby's and his own. Sam was hallucinating.

"Dean?" Castiel asked, his eyes on the brother laid low with withdrawal. Dean shook his head.

"We just need to keep going." Dean said, voice rough. "The sooner we get there the better." Dean glanced at Castiel's water bottle, the one Sam had given to him. "Could you try to give him some water?"

Castiel swallowed, and took the bottle, opening it and reaching over the seat to where Sam lay. Gently, he reached out for the side of Sam's head, but Sam flinched violently.

"Sam?" Castiel said softly. "I just want to give you some water."

He got his mouth open, and Sam swallowed a gulp, before turning away and spilling some on the seat. Castiel moved back, frowning.

"He drank some." Castiel said, not knowing if it was enough. Dean, though, nodded.

"Good."

Castiel settled in his own seat again, and watched Dean drive. His hands were tight against the wheel, and his face pale.

"No...Mom, no..." Sam murmured from the back, and Dean's face spasmed.

"Dammit," He whispered.

"What can we do?" Castiel asked. Dean shook his head.

"Nothing."


	3. Chapter 3

The drive was long, and the car filled with Sam's suffering. It seemed to expand and fill every fold in the seats, every crevice, and cranny in that old car. It infused the air, making it hard for Dean and Castiel to breathe. It stole all their words, and clogged up the radio, so nothing could be heard but the pain from the back seat.

Finally, finally they pulled off the highway, just outside of Sioux Falls, and onto a long dirt road. A sign for Singer Salvage lined the drive, and Castiel felt a rush of relief. He was glad that he was mostly well again, after that last bout of sickness, for the gravel road was full of potholes making the car dip and jerk, and the gravel made a loud clanging against the body of the car. Sam was conscious enough to tense against the back of Castiel's seat every time a bump threatened to slide him on to the floor. Dean drove carefully, but there was little he could do.

Bobby's yard was as it always was, and the man himself was parked out on the porch, despite the late hour.  
Dean parked the car, and got around to open the back door. Castiel got out unnoticed.

"Sam? Hey, Sam, we're here. At Bobby's." Dean's voice was soft, not at all like his normal voice. Sam roused a bit, blinked, and looked around confused.

"Dean? Cas?"

Castiel was standing close to the open door of the car, and Dean gestured back to him.

"I'm here, Cas is too. We've gotta get you inside, okay?"

Sam nodded tiredly, more aware than he'd been in hours. Dean pulled him out of the car, and upright with some help from Sam, and then both Castiel and Dean helped the taller man inside.

Bobby watched them come closer with sad eyes. "Hey, boys." He greeted when they got closer. Castiel nodded as best he could from under Sam's arm, and Dean grunted.

Sam was twitchy, and flinched at shadows, but they got him downstairs with minimal trouble. When they got to the door of the panic room, that old room that held dark memories for all of them, Sam straightened up. His eyes were clearer.

"Guys, I want to do this by myself." He murmured, and Dean nodded and stepped away, a hand held out in case the unsteady man fell. Castiel followed suit. Sam trembled, but walked into the metal room under his own power. It felt oddly symbolic, that Sam walked into this on his own. It was like he was taking back the control from Famine, for making him give in in the first place. It brought a small measure of peace to Castiel's heart.

Dean, however, kept his face downcast while he closed the door on his brother, and locked it tight. The clang did sound ominously final.

There was silence for a moment, and then Dean turned back to the stairs.

"I'm gonna get a drink." And Castiel knew that he meant something to ease the pain of listening to this a second time.

For they all knew what was coming. He heard Dean go upstairs, exchange small, tired pleasantries with Bobby, and return, holding a bottle and no glass.

"You want some?" Dean held out the whiskey, and Castiel shook his head, unable to hide the disgust at anything passing his lips ever again. On any other night, Dean would have chuckled at seeing that, but he only shrugged, and took a swallow. "More for me."

Castiel took up a position close to the door of the panic room. Dean didn't ask if or when Castiel would leave, in truth he didn't know. His stomach was settled now, and flying would probably be fine, but he didn't want to leave-not yet.

Sam was going to be in much pain for a while, and Castiel didn't want Dean to have to listen to it alone.

It wasn't long before the panic of Sam's hallucinations became loud enough to penetrate the salt encrusted iron. They were painful calls for help, pleas for Dean and Castiel and the angel's heart broke to hear them. Dean leaned against the wall, close to the stairs and as far from the room that contained Sam as possible, sipping from his drink, and not showing much on his face.

"Help!" Sam panted, crying out, clearer than before, and Castiel felt a lurch in his gut that had nothing to do with meat. "Help! Cas? Dean, if you're out there, help!"

Dean did nothing but take a swig of his bottle, his face unaffected, but his body was slumped and agonized. Sam yelled again, sounding tortured. Then Castiel watched Dean's face twitch in pain, and he closed his eyes.

"You know it's not him in there." Castiel said. He had to say something, the air was thick outside the panic room, and it seemed that all sound was a vacuum around Sam's cries. "Not really,"

Dean swallowed. Sam called out for help again. "I know." Dean said his voice rough with whiskey and grief. Castiel saw his lip tremble.

Castiel was suddenly desperate to make this better, to make Dean understand that this was not his fear of Sam relapsing, but rather an unavoidable result of the monster that they faced. He didn't want Dean blaming Sam for falling, nor himself for not preventing it. This could not be helped.

"Dean," Castiel said, urging Dean to believe him, but not sure how to voice his thoughts. "Sam just has to get it out of his system. Then he'll be-"

"Listen, I just, uh..." Dean interrupted. He worked his mouth. "I just need to get some air."

Without meeting his eyes (truly Dean hadn't made eye contact since they'd faced Famine, not really) Dean turned and headed up the stairs without another word. Castiel was left to listen to Sam's shouts and pleas alone, as Dean's footsteps faded.

"Please!" Sam cried again, and Castiel closed his eyes too. He felt guilty for it, but he willed Sam to pass out, to fall asleep, just to spare him, and those who listened. If he still had half the angelic powers he'd had a year ago, he could have sent Sam to sleep through the worst of the withdrawals, or even perhaps have taken away the symptoms altogether. Now, he could only listen and hope that helped.

Then, the part of him in tune with prayer, with Dean's prayers in particular came forward in his mind. Dean was praying, and not for him to get his "feathery ass down here" or whatever else he regularly used. Dean probably didn't even mean for him to overhear this.

"Please," Dean murmured brokenly to the sky, to God or whomever else. "I can't...I need some help." Dean sounded so lost, that Castiel wanted to immediately go to him, to do...something. But what? Castiel had been there, ready to help all day, and still Dean took no comfort from him. What could he do now? Plus, Sam was still crying out to him, and his brother, and he was someone else Castiel could not help. He bowed his head.

"Please?" Was Dean's final whisper. Castiel could take it no longer. There was nothing he could do for Sam right now, save be a witness. Perhaps there was also nothing he could do for Dean, but he could try. Was that not what friends did?

Castiel suddenly remembered something, vaguely heard as he swallowed more and more unwanted meat. Famine's rasping voice accusing Dean of being dead inside, of being empty. But Dean's prayer was not the prayer of a man with a deadened heart. Dean felt, perhaps too much, and Castiel could see it clearly. Dean needed to realise this. Castiel fluttered out of sight a moment later.

Dean was standing, limp looking and drained by the car in Bobby's yard. Castiel's heightened human senses could tell that it was colder now; the temperature had dropped since they'd arrived. Dean's breath blew out in plumes, and there were minute shivers running up and down his whole frame. 

Castiel stepped closer, feeling like he was approaching a wounded wild animal. 

"Dean?" He said, carefully. Dean jerked like he hadn't heard him come near, though Castiel had taken care not to be silent. The man hurriedly wiped at his face, covering any evidence of his emotional plea moments before.

"Cas," Dean's voice was gravelly and rose into alarm. "How's Sam? Is he alright?" 

"He's the same as he was," Castiel told him, coming near to stand beside him. "Are you alright?"

Dean hung his head further. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Castiel didn't believe that for a moment. He clasped his hands together, not sure what to say next.

"Dean-"

"Cas, please," And Heaven help him, the please sounded just like his prayer from before. Castiel's heart twisted. "I just want to be alone..."

Castiel's shoulders slumped. Dean was facing away from him, so Castiel simply turned to go. But before he went, one thing did need to be said, even if Dean didn't want to hear it. 

"Dean, I'll leave you alone if you wish. But you need to hear, Famine was wrong."

Dean glanced back at him. "What?" 

"What Famine said to you. I heard it." Castiel came around the other man, tilting his head until he met Dean's eyes, reddened and anguished. Not dead. "You are not dead inside. The proof is in your heart right now. Your suffering tonight means your heart is still alive enough to feel it."

"You don't know what I'm feeling."

Castiel stepped forward, his urgency surprising himself and Dean. "No, I suppose I don't. But I do know what it means to feel nothing, to be dead inside. And Dean, you are feeling. By that very fact, it means you are human, still and nothing else."

Dean did not visibly react, but Castiel could see him taking it in. That had to be enough. 

Castiel spread his wings and appeared back in the hallway outside the panic room. Sam's shouts had quieted to the occasional sob, and peeking in, Castiel saw Sam still curled on the small bed, shaking but alright for the moment. The effects of Famine's curse would soon fade for Sam, as they had for him. 

Castiel's thoughts turned to Dean. He had wondered why it seemed Dean was not affected by the horseman's powers.

Dean had seemed the same as ever, though outside his craving, Castiel could remember Dean turning down a burger, and Sam watching his brother with sharper than usual eyes. Perhaps he'd been wrong in his assumption that Dean had evaded Famine's influence. Perhaps, and Castiel's eyes widened as he fully realized, Dean had craved, not food or love or attention, but numbness. Nothingness. It would explain why Famine had felt no life within his soul, and also why Dean was so anguished now. Those feelings had come flooding back with Famine's death, and now Dean was drowning in them. 

"Oh, Dean..."

Sam's voice renewed in volume, and Castiel felt a wave of weariness. Sam was beyond his help for now, and Dean refused to be comforted. Castiel leaned backwards until he was supported by the wall, then helplessly raised his eyes to the ceiling. He felt useless, standing and listening. But it seemed that was all he could do, falling angel that he was. He let out a sigh, and rubbed his brow, considering sending a prayer upwards as Dean had done...but then only closed his eyes. Sam's calls echoed in his ears, as Dean's prayer did in his mind.

He could answer neither.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the final chapter, I hope you all enjoyed it. I tried to show how the events of this episode really affected each of the characters, and if you think about it became a sort of catalyst for the rest of the series. Sam fell off the wagon, and so became determined to not give in. Cas was reminded of his falling angel state, and because of his failure to be stronger, he let Dean down. And Dean, *sigh*, Dean watched as his brother "gave in" and as Cas gets weaker, he sees how their path of resistance that they're on is just killing them slowly. Dean begins to realize that they are pretty hopeless, and moves towards his decision to say yes. I focused on Castiel this time, but he focuses on the others. There will be more along this line (ie Missing scenes, character studies of various parts of the series, my meta turned into fic, and lots of Cas POV) so if that's your thing, look out for more :)


End file.
